Poor Me

There is a friend who made me poor, Not because she stole my loot. She took away my richest treasure Because of what I did and said. I knew this friend three years longer Than the one I was yet to lose, But it would hurt me more than any Other breach my body would feel. She wasn't spiteful or malicious, Never vicious or hateful towards me. I could count on her for anything 'Cept secrets that should have never been. We had appointments that I would miss Because my schedule became intense. And I promised I would make the next one, But overslept that fateful morning. I ran to meet her with words prepared And a photo she long had coveted To make up for my past transgressions. I told her please do not tell my friend. Why did I etch that commandment Onto a heart, I thought, of flesh? She said, "OK", but thought it strange And told my friend anyway. I was jerk, such a silly boy. She wouldn't have minded what I did, But I didn't want her to think I thought Rich girls didn't deserve such gifts. I did repent and was later forgiven, But what we built had been torn down. By such a small foolish deed of mine. I bought one friend to lose another.